[ Though the stars never speak back, Sciel always finds she gets what she needs when she talks to them. ...Almost always, anyway. Tonight is a strange exception. ]
Wish you were here, Dad. [ She sighs, lying in the grass at the cliff's edge, her legs dangling over the rocky face. ] They're not being very chatty at the moment, and I...could use some advice.
[ What do you do when one of your best friends is murdered, but you have to go on? To someone who's lived through the Gommage year in and year out, it isn't a new concept. But Gustave's death had ripped through them all in their own ways. Maelle has clearly -- understandably -- struggled badly with her grief. Lune, naturally, has retreated into her work. And Sciel?
Well, she'd been the one to remind them all of the mantra of the Expedition. She tucks her love and fondness for their fallen friend in her heart with the others, safe and treasured, but not weighing her down. ...Too much.
And then, of course, there's...Verso. The strange (and admittedly handsome) man who'd arrived too late, but who'd since sworn himself their ally in completing the mission. Their interactions thus far have been...interesting, to say the least, and behind her usual, easy demeanor, Sciel finds she isn't sure what to make of the man.
"Be cautious," Lune had warned unnecessarily. Sciel may be a free spirit and occasionally a loose canon, even, but she isn't an idiot.
[Early on during his time with the 33s, Verso had thought that he might be able to distance himself from the others. Play up his role as the dark and mysterious stranger, take detached approaches wherever possible, remind himself that nothing is more ephemeral than an Expeditioner so he should avoid getting attached, etc. It had lasted all of five minutes. More and more time passes and closer and closer they get to the end of everything, but his hopeless heart keeps reaching out for connections regardless of everything else.
Which is why when the night drags on and he notices that Sciel isn't at her usual spot by the fire, he can't help but head off to see if he can find her. Partly why, anyway; admittedly, he's also grown fond of her company. She keeps him on his toes without catching him off-guard with questions (thanks, Lune) or criticising his poetry (it's not that bad, Maelle!!!) It's nice. It's something he hasn't experienced in a long while.
He doesn't mean to listen in on her; the night is quiet and her voice carries across the field as he makes his approach. Part of him feels like maybe he should turn back for a bit, bide some time and pretend that her words are safe with the stars. But, again, his hopeless heart convinces him otherwise, and he makes a slow approach, clearing his throat in announcement as he does.]
Hey. Sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping, I was... [Worried? Lonely? Curious? Looking for you?] Intruding. Subtle but important distinction.
[Fucking nailed it. Once he's a couple feet away, he stops. Maybe she wants to be alone. Maybe he should have waited, after all. It's too late now, though. He can kick himself over his lacking social skills later.]
You can try me if you want. Can't promise it'll be good advice, but hey, maybe I'll surprise us both.
[ It's a surprise when the new addition to their ragtag crew appears out of the night, but Sciel isn't startled. She doesn't appear miffed, either, and turns an easy smile his way when he makes himself known. ]
Ah, yes. Very important distinction. If you'd been eavesdropping, that'd be completely unacceptable. But 'intruding?' What the hell, come on over.
[ There's a little laugh as she sits up more fully, patting the ground beside her. ]
I'd love it if you did. Surprise me, that is. [ As in: her expectations aren't high, given that they'd only just met, but she'll give it a go. Why not? There isn't much more they can collectively lose, and death waits around every corner. Surely some possibly half-baked advice from a stranger couldn't do too much damage. ]
I was just trying to figure out the best way to remember them. [ Does she need to elaborate, to add "the people we've lost?" ] We have our ways back home, but out here... Well, you know. There aren't many funerals [ except one ]. We can't bury them all. ...But you can't let it weigh you down too much, either. Carrying them with you even emotionally can be just as fatal as if you'd brought their bodies along.
[ How? How to strike the balance? ...Maybe someone with, say, decades of experience losing people might know. It'd been his idea to lay Gustave to rest as they'd done, after all, and that had been enormously helpful for everyone.
But it couldn't be done for everyone who had died, or might die. So...? ]
[It would have been incredibly awkward if she hadn't.
With the seat offered, Verso makes a vague yet polite-seeming gesture with his hands before sitting down beside her, letting his own legs dangle over the edge of the cliff and leaning back against his arms as he looks up at the stars. It's intended to be a quick glance, but when the topic lands squarely at the heart of death, he lets his focus linger in place, watching the detritus gently bob overhead.
Still, it's not the kind of question that catches him off-guard. He doesn't need to sift through his mountainous lies and find some way to present a kernel of the truth – or at least something that resembles one – without giving himself and everything else away. The answer presents itself to him immediately and he reaches for it without hesitation, finally looking towards Sciel over a shrug of his shoulders.]
Well, personally, I talk to them. Share what's going on and think about what they might say.
[More often than not, he's the only person left to remember that they even existed in the first place. It's a heavy burden and that might show in how his expression grows a little more soft, a little more tired, but it's one he willingly bears. To abandon it now would weigh down on him infinitely more, anyway.]
It helps me keep a piece of them alive even if it's just in my mind.
[That's not exactly what Sciel asked, though, so Verso releases a soft sigh and looks skyward once again.]
But that's just me. How have you been remembering them?
[ His reply comes quick. That's to be expected, she thinks, given his experience. ...Though the man also has had a way of playing his cards close to his chest thus far, so there is a small element of surprise at what she feels is a decently forthright answer. ]
I actually do the same. Talk to them, or sometimes just about them. [ To the stars, as she'd been taught. ] And it usually helps. Just...right now, things are...a little quiet.
[ It's Sciel's way of saying that she's having a little more trouble processing everything that's happened lately, which -- since it is still Sciel -- is still better than how most would fare in her shoes.
She turns his way again with eyes that hold the brightness of the sky above them. ]
Even death is different out here. [ She adds finally, returning her gaze skyward. ] Funny. Of all the changes you think you might run into on the Continent...
[ They'd expected death: it's baked into the Expeditions at their very core. But... The sheer brutality of it, and even the way the bodies remain after? It's...unsettling. ]
[It's been a few days since Verso has had the heart to speak to anyone. Since he's had the heart to move, really; he's spent as much time as he could in bed, as if he could will away his existence by refusing to participate in it. Once it occurs to him that he's just engaging in his own form of make-believe, though, the thought of continuing to shut himself away starts to grate on his nerves. He's tired of pretending – he's so fucking tired of it – and all too quickly the walls of the room begin to feel like they're closing in on him, and the air grows thick and suffocating, and he realises how little he can bear the thought of one more person walking through the door to visit with him like he's some tragic sculpture on display, so fragile that nobody seems comfortable even breathing around him else they cause him to shatter.
So, he gets out of bed. Washes himself and changes into the first clean outfit he's worn since waking up in Lumiere. Leaves the bedroom, hoping against hope that he's alone in the apartment, but of course he's not. He can see Maelle off to the side, can hear the sudden silence as she stops whatever it was she'd been doing when his door creaked open and his footsteps thudded heavy and frustrated against the wooden floor.
Ignoring her doesn't feel like an option, so he offers only a brisk:]
I'm going for a walk.
[Rather than waiting for acknowledgement, a response, anything, he quickens his pace and makes way for the front door.]
[ Maelle lives in a hard-won fantasy. A true paradise, one that exists in spite of all of the pain and the death that paved the way. Most mornings she starts by looking out the window at the streets of Lumiére, hardly able to believe it's all real, with everyone and everything so vibrant and alive and happy.
...Well. With one notable -- crucial -- exception.
Today, like most days, she sits at the bay window of their apartment, leaning against the glass and smiling contentedly down at the passers-by. They're not just the Lumiérans who'd been alive when she'd departed for the Expedition, but also those who'd passed away or Gommaged before. Loved ones that other citizens had wanted back, who had been happy to be given another chance. Maelle watches them all and uses the sight to solidify that what she'd managed had been enormous, and what she'd chosen had been right. For everyone. Whether they could accept it (yet) or not.
Today seems like it'll be like any other day in the world she'd protected...until she hears the water. Maelle stiffens like a prey animal, ears perking up at the unexpected sound. She remains frozen as heavy footfalls follow, then the telltale squeaking of boards, and -- against all odds - Verso appears.
Briefly. But he's hurrying to the door, away from her, and she snaps up to intercept. ]
Verso, wait. [ If he continues, she'll chase. After what had happened between them, there is seemingly no line she won't dare to cross to sway him. And so she steps closer, extending a hand as if to calm a bucking horse. ] You can't keep ignoring me like this, I-... Can we talk? Please?
[There is a small part of Verso that feels the urge to brush Maelle's hand aside, or to more directly remove her from his path, or to find some other way to get her to leave him alone without having to speak the request aloud. His pain feels like a tangible thing, far more easily sensed than the angry whispers of his chroma, and it's almost miraculous that he was able to announce his intentions without his voice breaking.
But it is a very small part; mostly, he doesn't have the heart to lash out against her like that. Earlier, when they'd fought over the fate of the canvas, he'd had a purpose greater than himself – her future. The power to change it for the better feels profoundly outside of his grasp now, but he's not blind to the ways through which he could make it worse. Humouring impulses that might bring about the latter doesn't sit well with him even after everything, so he freezes in place like a cornered cat, posture tense and upper back almost arched.]
What's there to talk about?
[A lot, he knows, making the question deliberately obtuse. Talking requires listening, though, and he's not sure that Maelle would want to hear him out any more than he wants to hear her justify his existence or whatever else he worries she might have in mind, so.]
[ It's...awful, seeing him like this. She winces at his reply, shoulders tensing automatically. In the new, perfect world, there is just one issue, and it's that -
Verso hates me. The idea has been like a poison, one she keeps at bay as best she can, but which feels undeniable to Alicia-turned-Maelle-turned... 'Maelle.' She feels the despair in his chroma, which has been palpable even through closed doors. And now, after not seeing or speaking to him since...before their return, it's clear in his posture and in his voice. He hates me, and there's nothing I can do about it. ]
Everything. [ She stresses, and there is a desperation to the plea. ] We haven't spoken in days, and-... I know what happened was awful, but it's all going to be okay. You'll see, I promise. [ There's a light flush of embarrassment and she worries the inside of her lip before committing to what she adds next: ] ...You're okay.
[ Does he know it was the last thing her brother had ever said to her? Does he know she'd have done anything to have died in Verso's place, that she believes completely that it'd have been better for everyone? ]
Please. We can go for a walk if you want, I just...want to help you.
[The words are familiar, plucked from the memories of the Verso he never was and never wanted to be. They're words that have proven wrong time and again as he bore witness to the endless consequences of his sacrifice. Nobody's okay and nothing's okay, and this Verso has lived with that understanding for so long now, so damned long, that he winces in turn when Maelle speaks them, his expression darkening further when she says she wants to help him.
I told you how to help me, he wants to say, the retort burning like bile at the back of his throat. He pleaded and he begged and used that very phrasing – help me – and she had called him brother instead, and he doesn't have the capacity to tell her how that's made him feel on top of everything else.
Which is his own fault, he knows; Alicia returned to the canvas and Verso kept everything to himself. She can't possibly know he feels about his own creation and how it shaped the world. Even his exhaustion has been twisted into something vague and palatable. Yet he's still angry. Being here still hurts. And he's not convinced she knows what he needs, either, so his response is a somewhat curt:]
I don't think either of us needs a refresher, yeah? Particularly since we've both been very good about not preparing ahead of time.
[ They meet again under the expanse of stars. Tonight, Sciel and Verso are settled in the grass a ways away from where they'd held their previous conversation, with the farmer-turned-teacher sitting crossed-legged before her companion and the deck of cards sat between them. ]
I'm expecting the mean game you promised, but I hope it'll still be a clean one.
[ Not that she really expects him to cheat at cards, least of all because their bets are such low stakes. What she's really doing is employing the lightest touch of flirtation, teasing him a bit as they set up the game, enjoying the playful nature of their relationship.
It's still very early, but he's been every bit the welcome addition to the group that she'd hoped. He seems to cheer up Esquie, to put Maelle at ease, to intrigue Lune. Not to mention all the strategic aid he's provided in helping them along in their journey thus far.
Already, she finds herself hoping that -- should they survive -- he returns with them to the city. Or at least comes by on a regular basis, if he's become more fond of the wild world around them than Lumiére, which would be understandable...
Sciel leans back, looking up from the cards with a competitive glint already in her eyes. ]
[The night is unseasonably warm; Verso's taken his jacket and cape off, sending them away into the hammerspace where he keeps his weapons and his piano. He's rolled up his sleeves, too, a decades-old force of habit from when he used to play card games in bars, half drunk and wholly determined to cut off any accusations of cheating before they reached fever pitches that would get him lectured about upholding the family reputation once he returned home. Now, though, it's part of his pre-game ritual, something that gets him into the right mindset, something he does without really thinking.
Like how he follows Sciel's lead, taking his seat across from her and half-crossing his own legs, leaving one knee up for him to rest an arm atop, which he does, flicking his wrist upwards in a gesture of faux concession over her teasing.]
I'll be on my best behaviour. Promise.
[Best, of course, being a relative term. He's not trying to hide that, though; there's a lilt to his voice and a light in his eyes as he matches her step for step, increasingly stubborn about ignoring those voices in the back of his head asking him what the hell he's doing, what he's thinking, if he's thinking, while he and Sciel continue to steal away these little moments from the mission, her reminding him how to be human and him...
Well, he isn't sure what he does for her, exactly, but he's glad she seeks it out all the same.
As for who deals:]
Hmm. Good question. [A pause, just to drag things out. He's already made his choice.] I really want that reading, so I'll go ahead and take the advantage. You deal.
[ His slight change in attire doesn't go unnoticed (or unappreciated). Though it isn't as if she's ogling her companion, Sciel does make note of the slope of his forearms, the well-toned muscle further up. It's more evidence in support of the case she's building internally that it's worth, at some point, testing the waters of a possible fling with the man. Sex is hardly the priority out here, and it's very possible he'll turn her down, but there's no harm in asking, is there?
Briefly, she wonders what his experience in this area has been, out here. It seems impossible she'd be the first expeditioner to gauge his interest...
For now, though, she moves her eyes from his exposed arms to the cards, smile growing. ]
I'll take your word for it. [ "Being on his best behavior," that is. There's a lilting chuckle as she shifts her weight slightly, pressing a hand to the ground beside her and leaning back on it. ]
Off we go, then. [ In a practiced motion, she deals them each the allotted dozen cards, face down, before laying the rest between them.
As she waits for him to review his hand and possibly make an exchange, Sciel's gaze drifts down to her own options. ]
...You should know, though: I would really like to hear you play. So you may have the advantage, but don't let it go to your head, yeah?
[ She has no intention of losing, particularly as she'd already given him a lot of tarot insights for free when they'd planned for this very occasion. ]
[Always at least tangentially aware of how others exist in his presence -- a permanent effect of what had happened between Julie and himself all those years ago -- Verso does pick up on how Sciel's gaze lingers on his arms. So, when she looks up again, his own expression veers towards something appraising, in part a gauging of her reaction, but mostly he allows himself to get a little more lost in her eyes, a bit more found through her smile.
No, he's not a complete stranger to Expeditioners taking an interest in him -- and no, he's never really shied away from escaping reality through the fantasy of narrowing the world down to a singular collision of want and need -- but rarely has he felt a connection like this in the leading-up moments, and that gentles the way his own interest registers in his expression, though it intensifies its resonance in his lonely, foolish heart.]
Me? Never.
[Never would he let something get to his head, he means, which is, of course, a lie. Most good things get to it in one way or another, if only because enough awful shit happens out on the Continent that the good stuff tends to impact him more than it might affect someone else.
But, right, they're playing a game. Looking over his cards, he plucks three from his hand and places them face-down on the grass before grabbing a new three from the talon, his expression relaxing into practised neutrality as he looks them over and sorts them into place.]
Let's say you do win.
[A pause as he second guesses his intended question: what kind of music do you like? It feels a little impersonal under the circumstances, a little boring. So, he changes it to:]
What would you want the music to make you feel? I'll come up with something while we play.
[ He notices her wandering gaze and their eyes meet at the tail end of it. Sciel doesn't turn away or appear at all bashful, instead looking back at him with a curious little smile and the beginnings of a question in her face. This is still not the right time, but...he doesn't seem particularly put out by this one, isolated moment.
Yes, this isn't (yet?) the place for pursuing that further, but it is good to know that the might be some reciprocity.
For now: Sciel, the dealer, considers her options before settling on discarding four and drawing that number, looking it over with an inscrutable expression. ]
Oh, giving up already? [ Obviously not, but she won't pass up the opportunity for some fond teasing.
The wording of his question is a surprise, and she makes a thoughtful sound as she turns it over in her mind, giving it serious consideration.
"What would you want the music to make you feel?" Music is transformative -- powerful, in the right hands -- and the idea that it might be able to so completely alter a person's mood is tempting. To ask for "happy," or "relaxed" and possibly be able to have that experience generated for her.
That isn't what she settles on, though. There's a visible moment where Sciel seems to have the answer dawn on her, and her teeth flash in another pleased smile. ]
I would want it...to make me feel like I know you.
[ It's spoken carefully, but still with a lightness that doesn't put too much drama into the declaration. Sciel drops her gaze to the cards in front of them, waiting patiently for him to take his turn. ]
[ Before they'd forced Aline from the Canvas -- before Expedition 33 -- there were no real birthday celebrations in Lumière. Hard to throw parties in good faith when the passing of another year only meant that the reaper was closing in, particularly as one approached the age painted on the monolith. As such, most of Maelle's birthdays had passed without anyone's notice: exactly as she and everyone else preferred it.
Now, though... It isn't as if the traditions of the Canvas have suddenly changed, but the population has gradually warmed up to the idea of actually marking birthdays again. Of celebrating life, now that isn't no longer lived under the undeniable shadow of an early death. Even so, Maelle almost doesn't notice when that day rolls around, except that she casts a glance across the calendar she keeps in the kitchen and catches sight of the date on her way out.
16 décembre. Her breath catches as she slows to a stop, eyes fixed on the page. It isn't 'Maelle's' birthday -- Gustave or Emma might have reminded her of that, given the chance in circumstances -- but Alicia's. Something she hasn't celebrated in a long time and which she might easily have forgotten, had she not happened to look this way.
Maelle stands there for a while, lost in an array of memories. Her family gathered around her, all happy and alive. Silly childish things, like letting her eat whatever she wanted all day, or freeing her from any obligations. Moments from the last few years as Alicia, too: gifts from her parents that really felt catered to her interests, lively conversations with Clea about a book they'd both read, and a private concert from Verso.
It all makes her heart clench, and before she thinks too much about it, she's bursting out the door and down the street, trying and failing to outrun the very ghosts she clings to so tightly. Before long, she's at Verso's door, hand hovering at eye level before she does eventually knock, swallowing hard. ]
Verso? It's me. [ He probably can't hear her unless he's in that front room, she realizes, but...with the knock alone, it isn't impossible that he'd choose to ignore it, if he thought it was someone else.
(Or even if he knows exactly who it is, depending on how he's feeling today.) ]
[It's been a long time since Verso's had any real concept of time. Generally, he could track the months. Maybe he'd be off by a week or two by the time the Gommage circled around to confirm that another year had passed, but never enough for it to catch him off guard. It's rather that he hasn't been able to tell the difference between a Monday or a Saturday, a 3rd or a 27th, so keeping track of these things now isn't exactly intuitive.
Some dates are etched into his soul, though, and because Aline had given her painted family their real birthdays, December 16th is one of them.
What the Lumierans do or do not do for their birthdays is lost on him; his knowledge of how they live is still limited to the general concepts he holds of what it must be like to be normal, twisted though they've been by time and by circumstance. But he does know that Maelle was not born in December – that her birth had happened on its own terms, its own timeline.
In the end, that's what keeps him from reaching out once he's realised the date. Alicia has chosen to be Maelle. Whether that's possible or not isn't something for Verso to interfere with, but rather something to govern his own approaches. So, he spends the day like any other: sleeping in too late after going to bed too early, showering until he feels some semblance of humanity, and spending the bulk of the day curled up on the couch with a book or a notepad, or else with nothing but his labyrinthine thoughts to carry him into the evening.
Which means he does hear the knock and her voice chasing after it.
And he'd be lying if he said it didn't occur to him to ignore her. In each of their separate realities, he is not Verso and she is not Alicia, and so the date shouldn't mean anything for the two of them together. Hell, it even almost feels like a line they shouldn't cross. Not if he wants to remain firm in the fact that he isn't Verso. But his heart ever bleeds for the Dessendres and he still can't turn her away. Getting up, he brushes off his clothes – just a button-up and pair of black slacks – as if wrinkles can be cast off like crumbs, then tests his breath on his palm. That guides him to grab a mint before he opens his door, a delay which he almost hopes might be too long, but which he doesn't try to drag out, even quickening his steps once he nears the door.
A click of the lock, a cleansing breath, an equipping of his usual mask – easy, casual, passably held together by more than the tape and glue and wine that's scaffolding his ability to exist – and the door opens.]
[ Is everything okay? Maybe generally, except for her ongoing low-grade worries about Verso. She's busy enough in the meantime, spending as much of it in others' company as possible, working on the city where it makes sense to involve a Paintress. The Council doesn't seem to know quite what to do with her, so she generally tries to stay out of their way, though Emma seems determined to keep the balance of having her present without crossing any lines.
Gustave has been grumbling with increased frequency about her being involved at all in the city's restoration. Sciel and Lune have clearly told him some of what...might happen to her in the future, based on Aline's experience, but he doesn't know the extent of it and she hasn't told him. If she had, it'd be much less grumbling and much more lecturing.
Right now, though? She's not thinking of the city, the others, or their shared future, but the past that haunts them all. Verso's question makes her hesitate, though there's some level of unhappiness clear in her face, and she eventually decides on a reply: ]
I... Today is-... [ He probably knows, and she doesn't exactly want to take ownership of the birthday that had belonged to a person she's distancing herself from. All the same, she's saddled with those memories, and in particular the last birthday she'd had just a few weeks before the fire.
Verso had been there as usual, cracking jokes and smiling and ruffling her hair. And then he'd been gone, and those laughs had been overwritten with the sounds of his screams. ]
...I could use some company. [ Maelle says finally, returning her gaze to his, silently pleading. ] It just...took me by surprise, I guess.
[ Blindsided her as if she'd been hit by a truck, more like. ]
Yeah. [He knows. And he thinks that he should know better than to step aside and let her in when she's caught up in being Alicia right now, but, again, he may not know who he is right now or who he wants to be, but he still has enough of a concept of who he isn't, so he gestures her inside, closing the door behind her then scuttling off to light some lanterns.] Make yourself at home.
[Maybe she'll notice how little has changed, or how much of the environment has collected dust. Like his piano off to the side, which he casts a glance and sighs. He's probably going to have to figure out how to live like a human being in a human house with walls and a roof and people who stop by, sometimes, wanting to see that he's doing well. If only because it'll leave him feeling less exposed.
There's nothing to do about it now, though, so he takes a couple steps towards the kitchen, then shoots his thumb over his shoulders.]
You want anything to drink?
[He'd offer food but, well, anything he'd bring out would be just as revealing as the piano and its dust, and the state of his life isn't a flaming clusterfuck of a mess that he feels any particular need to stoke, so. But before taking another step – before even letting her answer, really – he spits up more things to say. None of which are what he actually wants to say:
You shouldn't be here.]
Sorry I didn't, uh. [Get her anything. Check in. Let the others know so that they could provide her the kind of support she might actually benefit from. He's a sorry man with little to his name besides apologies.] You know.
[ She does notice, but barely. The light eyes they share sweep over the room as he permits her entry, taking in only quick details of how the place has, or has not, changed. ...At least it doesn't look markedly worse, and he's seems okay, so...
Her mind is mostly still mired in a past that is hers, but for which she usually claims no ownership, when he asks if she wants anything. Before she can arrive at an answer, though, Verso presses on, offering an apology.
It surprises a breathy laugh out of her. ]
S'okay. [ Of course it is. In the way that she assumes he means it, anyway. ] I...probably wouldn't have noticed, really. Just happened to see the date on my way out.
[ An unlucky stroke that's led to at least part of her day being derailed. Though, the silver lining (such as it is) is that she's able to check in on him with the legitimate excuse of needing to be around someone who understands. ]
And -- water's fine. [ If only it could douse the fire burning in the back of her mind, which she's usually so good about keeping contained. ] Thanks.
[She washes, he washes; they dress and speed back down the track at an absurd rate that has Verso holding Sciel close, laughing by her ear, and getting her safely back the station, both of them in one piece. Then they continue. Time becomes more of a luxury than togetherness as the group treks across the snow and into the fabled Old Lumiere, Verso's fingers itching to grasp at the Paintress' heart, his own heart lurching at the thought of what that might entail for his little sister.
His father, well...
As usual, that's an absolute fucking mess. A clusterfuck of pain and frustration and feeling small. Of lies told through the keeping of secrets. Of truths barely kept from being revealed. Later, he'll obsess over the reasons why his father might have kept his silence on his true intentions, but for now he's too focused on clinging to whatever normalcy he can while he figures out which masks should be doffed and donned and how to best juggle everything in his extensive catalogue of bullshit.
That's not why he approaches Sciel, though. Regardless of everything that has and will happen, he's still a man of his word – on those rare attempts when gives it in earnest, anyway – and do wherever she's wandered off to around camp, it won't be long before he seeks her out. A clearing of his throat announces his arrival, and the subconscious running of his hand through his hair probably reveals a clue or two about his state of mind: nervous, a bit unsure, hopeful.]
Hey. [Spoken only when he's stopped by her side.] I still owe you that carousel ride. If...
[He hasn't fucked it all up. She had stood up for him against Lune's frustrations, and he has taken that to heart, but he doesn't want to read too much into it, just in case. So:]
Their journey continued on as Verso directed them through the ruins of Old Lumière in search of a previously-unknown and apparently vital piece of the mission: the Paintress' heart. There was barely enough time to marvel at the remains of the place from which their own Lumière had broken from, though, before the 33s were separated and forced to navigate to the centre of the city in unexpected disarray.
It'd given her and Lune a chance to talk, though, in more open honesty than they had at camp with their full company present. "I have this feeling he’s hiding something," Sciel had confided, though that wasn't exactly breaking news. She'd said as much to Verso himself, in her way. But...this had been different. The mistake Monoco had made that cut them off from Verso, Maelle, and Noco had left an uncomfortable twist in her gut: something she knew would only be remedied once they managed to regroup again.
Of course, once they had found each other...everything had gone to shit.
Now Noco is effectively gone and there are infinitely more questions than answers. Sciel is still chewing on them when Verso finds her sitting on one of the nearby cliffs, her back down against the grass, her knees over the edge.
The carousel. It feels like ages since they'd talked about that. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh as she pulls herself up to a sitting position, considering. ]
...If this is your plan to convince me we should take down the weaker Axon first, it won't work. [ Comes her response after a lapse. It's a joke, of course, because she needs to stall a bit as she figures out if it's an even more terrible idea to go off with him now than to join him in the wild cart ride down the mountain.
After another stretch, during which she worries idly at her lower lip, Sciel gets to her feet. ]
Be right back. [ And she returns to camp proper, finding Lune furiously scribbling in her journal.
Lune is hardly her keeper, but with tensions so high and trust running thin, it seems wrong to just disappear (again) with Verso. Particularly given that Maelle has been so quiet since her encounter at the manor, her mood clearly clouded with the events there. Loathe as Sciel is to step away from their younger companion in particular, she makes the case to Lune, whose gaze bores a disapproving hole through her head.
"I'm going to talk to him," Sciel states, with its myriad implications. Lune is the interrogator, but in this situation it might take a lighter touch to get some of the information that's been kept from them. And so, though she doesn't outright approve, Lune does return to her work with only a thin frown as evidence that they'd spoken at all.
Sciel returns to the cliffside not long after, summoning her coat to drape over her arm. ]
Look. You and I both know it's going to be up to Maelle in the end.
[He jokes back. With Verso and Lune being of one mind, and Sciel and Monoco being of the other, she is in the unenviable position of being their official tiebreaker. And maybe someone else would have questioned leaving one of the biggest decisions they'll make out here up to their youngest member, but protective brother side of him is overwhelmed by the one that wants to see her thrive, and so he shoots Sciel a somewhat mischievous shrug as she gets up.
To leave. He holds back a frown and flicks a hand towards the camp, a quiet by all means. In the meantime, he stands at the edge of the cliff, arms crossed over his chest, focus locked on the Monolith in the distance, in that representation of his mother curled up at is base. Overtop it, his mind superimposes the image of her in the manor, all stone and gold and artistic chaos. Even in his imagination, her eyeless face bores into him.
Fortunately, whatever Sciel wandered off to do doesn't take too long, so he's able to break free of the hold the memory has on him before it imposes too much of a burden on his masks. Even if he's certain the way that Alicia gravitated to her will haunt him for far longer, still.]
We shall.
[Under different circumstances, he might have offered Sciel his arm, maybe cracked another joke. At least made some move to pretend like things can be simple as two people who enjoy each other's company doing precisely that. The key to telling convincing lies is knowing when to tell the truth, though, so he doesn't bother trying to pretend. Instead, he gestures her onwards towards where Esquie is already waiting to take them to their destination and starts heading that way himself.]
I meant it, you know. [His tone is soft, but there's still an edge of frustration to it. A lingering discomfort over being discovered, dark and rumbling, even if the only person he has to blame is himself.] Being that man's son, it's something I was, it's not...
[No, he can't figure out how to complete that thought. It is important. It does guide him. It's coloured his view of the world and the Paintress and his own immortality. He loves for him and hurts for him and understands him too fucking well. Something else, then. Something that rings more true to himself.]
My father – the man he was – he died in the Fracture, and I've laid him to rest. That's all that needs to be said.
[Which isn't for him to decide, of course, but he's still going to try.]
[ Sciel starts off in the direction he indicates without a word. She's decided to go, but hasn't yet landed on what she wants to say...when he starts up the conversation himself, unbidden.
She can't help but smile a little, even under the strained circumstances. ]
I was going to wait at least twenty minutes before saying anything... [ It's clear, though, that he's feeling...if not a compulsion from within, then an external push to justify his actions, even though he'd been so quick to decry his need to explain when they'd returned to camp. Sciel turns her eyes on him in her usual, scrutinizing way, though her expression is soft. Uneasy, maybe, but soft. ]
I believe you. [ She says, and mostly means it. If nothing else, it seems like he wants it to be true, so...maybe it is. ] But, Verso...you know what we've been through. What he's done. It can't be a surprise that we'd...struggle, learning you're related the way we did.
[ There's no need to beat a dead horse. Verso hadn't seen the slaughter at the beach or Gustave's murder, but she knows he's witnessed enough death and other nightmares across the Continent to imagine the scenes. The traumatic impact those events have had on the three survivors.
Sciel sighs, crossing her arms. ]
...Look. We've all got...things we haven't told each other. That's okay. Just...maybe find a way to share some of the ones that might become relevant?
[ It's hard to say, of course, what would've happened had he told them the news when they'd first met. Sciel can't, in complete honestly, tell herself they'd all have been able to overlook it when the wounds were so keen.
Still. She thinks of all the questions yet unanswered (some very pressing, like his referring to Maelle and the masked girl as Alicia). Of how the way he'd screamed in frustration after the manor disappeared had seemed some of the most genuine, raw emotion he'd displayed since meeting him.
Sciel continues to look at him, her face uncharacteristically unreadable. ]
I meant what I said, too. We need to trust each other. It's got to go both ways.
[ Maelle, the tiebreaker, makes her decision. So the Disaster Expedition, against Verso's recommendation, sails farther North toward their next destination: Sirène's island and the coliseum that dominates the landscape.
Even knowing it's the lair of an Axon — and the uninjured one, no less — they're not as prepared as they could or should be for something like this. Because their immortal guide hadn't been exaggerating when he'd described the exponential threat that these creatures pose as compared with basic Nevrons, and the danger starts the moment they cross the threshold and hear the song echoing around them.
The coliseum...is beautiful. Ethereal and enchanting in a way that's unlike even the most otherworldly landscapes they've traveled so far. And the music that drifts up and around also feels like it passes through Sciel as she joins the others near the massive chasm that sits at the center of the space. The Axon's voice slips in through her ears and skin and the chinks in her armour and settles onto her very muscles, coaxing her to relax, to release some of the tension she holds by necessity. And she does, finding herself unable and unwilling to resist it, feeling suddenly more at ease than she's been at most points during the expedition, let alone when something like Sirène is in view.
Monoco's warning to them all is like a whisper in a hurricane. Sciel is barely aware of the others' presence, hovering on the edge without a care in the world, eyes drawn automatically to the enormous, dancing creature that waits below. Her movements are fluid and beautiful, they speak of invitation and release, and there is a moment where Sciel — perfectly at ease — considers in sincerity how fun it'd probably feel to step off into the open air and tumble down below, to join in the dance —
Until the gestral's bell rings, harsh and shocking. Sciel draws a sharp breath, head again clear, and moves swiftly back from a deadly mistake, her heart hammering in her throat.
Fuck. "She who plays with wonder," indeed.
Unfortunately, a Grandis' bell and a warning are not enough to nullify Sirène and her minions. The journey to her, which has them traveling down, down, in a much longer spiral than anyone had seemed to anticipated, is similarly fraught. The Axon is the centerpiece of the area, and so she can be seen from most pathways in the coliseum. And even when the Nevron herself is out of sight, her voice carries into every nook and cranny: an ever-present reminder of who the master of this domain really is. Of course, there are also the usual slew of regular Nevrons to compete with, and some of them take after their resident Axon in their abilities.
It's unexpectedly draining, to try and resist the charm near-constantly, and Sciel feels herself fraying unusually quickly by the time they do make it to the bottom of the pit and approach the swaying, massive 'woman' in her true arena.
The fact that Sirène employs more of her dangerous technique the moment they arrive shouldn't be a surprise, but the magic is, unfortunately, just as effective now as it had been initially. A simple sweep of the Axon's arm inundates them all with visions that bring their initial onslaught to a screaming halt. Because although she's 'seen' Pierre in her dreams and nightmares, has had those moments of imagining him just out of sight in the ways of those who grieve, it'd never been like this. He's suddenly standing before her in such stark reality that it takes her breath away: hale and whole and looking every bit like he'd stepped out of the moment she'd last seen him. ...More than that, he carries a wrapped bundle, a little human, a detail she'd never let herself imagine out of regret and despair.
Their daughter gurgles, her fat, healthy hands reaching up for her parents. And, under Sirène's influence, Sciel doesn't feel shock or sadness. This...is right, isn't it? Her family is here. Of course they're here. They're...all together, as it should be, and everyone's okay. They're going to go home.
She barely has time to stretch out an arm to them before it's all gone. There's a rush of wind and shower of petals and the vision is shattered, leaving them with an enraged Axon, a brutal battle, and the bitter taste of an evaporated promise. And so Sciel does summon her weapon and engage, fighting tooth and nail to bring down the Axon and secure its heart for their mission, which they're able to do largely do to Lune's final strike. But the image of that fantasy remains in her sight long after they return (haggard, exhausted) to camp: visible with her eyes wide open or pinched shut.
Tonight, she's put herself around the corner from the fire and the bulk of the group. Close enough to shout, but with a little privacy to sort through all of the messy, twisting difficulty of the day. And so Sciel sits on a broken log, bucket of cold water at her side, splashing her face over and over again with unfocused determination.
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tableauvivant) wrote2025-09-17 01:14 pm
versciel fluff part 1...
Wish you were here, Dad. [ She sighs, lying in the grass at the cliff's edge, her legs dangling over the rocky face. ] They're not being very chatty at the moment, and I...could use some advice.
[ What do you do when one of your best friends is murdered, but you have to go on? To someone who's lived through the Gommage year in and year out, it isn't a new concept. But Gustave's death had ripped through them all in their own ways. Maelle has clearly -- understandably -- struggled badly with her grief. Lune, naturally, has retreated into her work. And Sciel?
Well, she'd been the one to remind them all of the mantra of the Expedition. She tucks her love and fondness for their fallen friend in her heart with the others, safe and treasured, but not weighing her down. ...Too much.
And then, of course, there's...Verso. The strange (and admittedly handsome) man who'd arrived too late, but who'd since sworn himself their ally in completing the mission. Their interactions thus far have been...interesting, to say the least, and behind her usual, easy demeanor, Sciel finds she isn't sure what to make of the man.
"Be cautious," Lune had warned unnecessarily. Sciel may be a free spirit and occasionally a loose canon, even, but she isn't an idiot.
What she is, though, is...curious. ]
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Which is why when the night drags on and he notices that Sciel isn't at her usual spot by the fire, he can't help but head off to see if he can find her. Partly why, anyway; admittedly, he's also grown fond of her company. She keeps him on his toes without catching him off-guard with questions (thanks, Lune) or criticising his poetry (it's not that bad, Maelle!!!) It's nice. It's something he hasn't experienced in a long while.
He doesn't mean to listen in on her; the night is quiet and her voice carries across the field as he makes his approach. Part of him feels like maybe he should turn back for a bit, bide some time and pretend that her words are safe with the stars. But, again, his hopeless heart convinces him otherwise, and he makes a slow approach, clearing his throat in announcement as he does.]
Hey. Sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping, I was... [Worried? Lonely? Curious? Looking for you?] Intruding. Subtle but important distinction.
[Fucking nailed it. Once he's a couple feet away, he stops. Maybe she wants to be alone. Maybe he should have waited, after all. It's too late now, though. He can kick himself over his lacking social skills later.]
You can try me if you want. Can't promise it'll be good advice, but hey, maybe I'll surprise us both.
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Ah, yes. Very important distinction. If you'd been eavesdropping, that'd be completely unacceptable. But 'intruding?' What the hell, come on over.
[ There's a little laugh as she sits up more fully, patting the ground beside her. ]
I'd love it if you did. Surprise me, that is. [ As in: her expectations aren't high, given that they'd only just met, but she'll give it a go. Why not? There isn't much more they can collectively lose, and death waits around every corner. Surely some possibly half-baked advice from a stranger couldn't do too much damage. ]
I was just trying to figure out the best way to remember them. [ Does she need to elaborate, to add "the people we've lost?" ] We have our ways back home, but out here... Well, you know. There aren't many funerals [ except one ]. We can't bury them all. ...But you can't let it weigh you down too much, either. Carrying them with you even emotionally can be just as fatal as if you'd brought their bodies along.
[ How? How to strike the balance? ...Maybe someone with, say, decades of experience losing people might know. It'd been his idea to lay Gustave to rest as they'd done, after all, and that had been enormously helpful for everyone.
But it couldn't be done for everyone who had died, or might die. So...? ]
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[It would have been incredibly awkward if she hadn't.
With the seat offered, Verso makes a vague yet polite-seeming gesture with his hands before sitting down beside her, letting his own legs dangle over the edge of the cliff and leaning back against his arms as he looks up at the stars. It's intended to be a quick glance, but when the topic lands squarely at the heart of death, he lets his focus linger in place, watching the detritus gently bob overhead.
Still, it's not the kind of question that catches him off-guard. He doesn't need to sift through his mountainous lies and find some way to present a kernel of the truth – or at least something that resembles one – without giving himself and everything else away. The answer presents itself to him immediately and he reaches for it without hesitation, finally looking towards Sciel over a shrug of his shoulders.]
Well, personally, I talk to them. Share what's going on and think about what they might say.
[More often than not, he's the only person left to remember that they even existed in the first place. It's a heavy burden and that might show in how his expression grows a little more soft, a little more tired, but it's one he willingly bears. To abandon it now would weigh down on him infinitely more, anyway.]
It helps me keep a piece of them alive even if it's just in my mind.
[That's not exactly what Sciel asked, though, so Verso releases a soft sigh and looks skyward once again.]
But that's just me. How have you been remembering them?
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I actually do the same. Talk to them, or sometimes just about them. [ To the stars, as she'd been taught. ] And it usually helps. Just...right now, things are...a little quiet.
[ It's Sciel's way of saying that she's having a little more trouble processing everything that's happened lately, which -- since it is still Sciel -- is still better than how most would fare in her shoes.
She turns his way again with eyes that hold the brightness of the sky above them. ]
Even death is different out here. [ She adds finally, returning her gaze skyward. ] Funny. Of all the changes you think you might run into on the Continent...
[ They'd expected death: it's baked into the Expeditions at their very core. But... The sheer brutality of it, and even the way the bodies remain after? It's...unsettling. ]
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girl help, the emotional whiplash between our threads is killing me
the whee balances the whoo sage esquie nod
NOT THIS TIME BRO
so what i'm hearing is that we need more whoo ↜(𓄼 .̀ ̮.́)Ψ
(◡‿◡)
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verso's a semisonic fan huh
okay but like secret smile does kinda have versciel vibes
family's... complicated
So, he gets out of bed. Washes himself and changes into the first clean outfit he's worn since waking up in Lumiere. Leaves the bedroom, hoping against hope that he's alone in the apartment, but of course he's not. He can see Maelle off to the side, can hear the sudden silence as she stops whatever it was she'd been doing when his door creaked open and his footsteps thudded heavy and frustrated against the wooden floor.
Ignoring her doesn't feel like an option, so he offers only a brisk:]
I'm going for a walk.
[Rather than waiting for acknowledgement, a response, anything, he quickens his pace and makes way for the front door.]
[ maelle voice ] this will hurt
...Well. With one notable -- crucial -- exception.
Today, like most days, she sits at the bay window of their apartment, leaning against the glass and smiling contentedly down at the passers-by. They're not just the Lumiérans who'd been alive when she'd departed for the Expedition, but also those who'd passed away or Gommaged before. Loved ones that other citizens had wanted back, who had been happy to be given another chance. Maelle watches them all and uses the sight to solidify that what she'd managed had been enormous, and what she'd chosen had been right. For everyone. Whether they could accept it (yet) or not.
Today seems like it'll be like any other day in the world she'd protected...until she hears the water. Maelle stiffens like a prey animal, ears perking up at the unexpected sound. She remains frozen as heavy footfalls follow, then the telltale squeaking of boards, and -- against all odds - Verso appears.
Briefly. But he's hurrying to the door, away from her, and she snaps up to intercept. ]
Verso, wait. [ If he continues, she'll chase. After what had happened between them, there is seemingly no line she won't dare to cross to sway him. And so she steps closer, extending a hand as if to calm a bucking horse. ] You can't keep ignoring me like this, I-... Can we talk? Please?
[verso voice] maximum damage
But it is a very small part; mostly, he doesn't have the heart to lash out against her like that. Earlier, when they'd fought over the fate of the canvas, he'd had a purpose greater than himself – her future. The power to change it for the better feels profoundly outside of his grasp now, but he's not blind to the ways through which he could make it worse. Humouring impulses that might bring about the latter doesn't sit well with him even after everything, so he freezes in place like a cornered cat, posture tense and upper back almost arched.]
What's there to talk about?
[A lot, he knows, making the question deliberately obtuse. Talking requires listening, though, and he's not sure that Maelle would want to hear him out any more than he wants to hear her justify his existence or whatever else he worries she might have in mind, so.]
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Verso hates me. The idea has been like a poison, one she keeps at bay as best she can, but which feels undeniable to Alicia-turned-Maelle-turned... 'Maelle.' She feels the despair in his chroma, which has been palpable even through closed doors. And now, after not seeing or speaking to him since...before their return, it's clear in his posture and in his voice. He hates me, and there's nothing I can do about it. ]
Everything. [ She stresses, and there is a desperation to the plea. ] We haven't spoken in days, and-... I know what happened was awful, but it's all going to be okay. You'll see, I promise. [ There's a light flush of embarrassment and she worries the inside of her lip before committing to what she adds next: ] ...You're okay.
[ Does he know it was the last thing her brother had ever said to her? Does he know she'd have done anything to have died in Verso's place, that she believes completely that it'd have been better for everyone? ]
Please. We can go for a walk if you want, I just...want to help you.
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I told you how to help me, he wants to say, the retort burning like bile at the back of his throat. He pleaded and he begged and used that very phrasing – help me – and she had called him brother instead, and he doesn't have the capacity to tell her how that's made him feel on top of everything else.
Which is his own fault, he knows; Alicia returned to the canvas and Verso kept everything to himself. She can't possibly know he feels about his own creation and how it shaped the world. Even his exhaustion has been twisted into something vague and palatable. Yet he's still angry. Being here still hurts. And he's not convinced she knows what he needs, either, so his response is a somewhat curt:]
With what, Maelle?
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i'm clocking in at the sad factory again!!
here's another shipment to unpack
just wait until i unionize :l
you can't just unionize the sad out of the sad game!!!
oh don't worry, the union is to make things MORE sad
rubs hands together AND kicks legs
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versciel fluf part 2
[ They meet again under the expanse of stars. Tonight, Sciel and Verso are settled in the grass a ways away from where they'd held their previous conversation, with the farmer-turned-teacher sitting crossed-legged before her companion and the deck of cards sat between them. ]
I'm expecting the mean game you promised, but I hope it'll still be a clean one.
[ Not that she really expects him to cheat at cards, least of all because their bets are such low stakes. What she's really doing is employing the lightest touch of flirtation, teasing him a bit as they set up the game, enjoying the playful nature of their relationship.
It's still very early, but he's been every bit the welcome addition to the group that she'd hoped. He seems to cheer up Esquie, to put Maelle at ease, to intrigue Lune. Not to mention all the strategic aid he's provided in helping them along in their journey thus far.
Already, she finds herself hoping that -- should they survive -- he returns with them to the city. Or at least comes by on a regular basis, if he's become more fond of the wild world around them than Lumiére, which would be understandable...
Sciel leans back, looking up from the cards with a competitive glint already in her eyes. ]
Would you like to deal, or shall I?
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Like how he follows Sciel's lead, taking his seat across from her and half-crossing his own legs, leaving one knee up for him to rest an arm atop, which he does, flicking his wrist upwards in a gesture of faux concession over her teasing.]
I'll be on my best behaviour. Promise.
[Best, of course, being a relative term. He's not trying to hide that, though; there's a lilt to his voice and a light in his eyes as he matches her step for step, increasingly stubborn about ignoring those voices in the back of his head asking him what the hell he's doing, what he's thinking, if he's thinking, while he and Sciel continue to steal away these little moments from the mission, her reminding him how to be human and him...
Well, he isn't sure what he does for her, exactly, but he's glad she seeks it out all the same.
As for who deals:]
Hmm. Good question. [A pause, just to drag things out. He's already made his choice.] I really want that reading, so I'll go ahead and take the advantage. You deal.
[Best behaviour indeed.]
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Briefly, she wonders what his experience in this area has been, out here. It seems impossible she'd be the first expeditioner to gauge his interest...
For now, though, she moves her eyes from his exposed arms to the cards, smile growing. ]
I'll take your word for it. [ "Being on his best behavior," that is. There's a lilting chuckle as she shifts her weight slightly, pressing a hand to the ground beside her and leaning back on it. ]
Off we go, then. [ In a practiced motion, she deals them each the allotted dozen cards, face down, before laying the rest between them.
As she waits for him to review his hand and possibly make an exchange, Sciel's gaze drifts down to her own options. ]
...You should know, though: I would really like to hear you play. So you may have the advantage, but don't let it go to your head, yeah?
[ She has no intention of losing, particularly as she'd already given him a lot of tarot insights for free when they'd planned for this very occasion. ]
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No, he's not a complete stranger to Expeditioners taking an interest in him -- and no, he's never really shied away from escaping reality through the fantasy of narrowing the world down to a singular collision of want and need -- but rarely has he felt a connection like this in the leading-up moments, and that gentles the way his own interest registers in his expression, though it intensifies its resonance in his lonely, foolish heart.]
Me? Never.
[Never would he let something get to his head, he means, which is, of course, a lie. Most good things get to it in one way or another, if only because enough awful shit happens out on the Continent that the good stuff tends to impact him more than it might affect someone else.
But, right, they're playing a game. Looking over his cards, he plucks three from his hand and places them face-down on the grass before grabbing a new three from the talon, his expression relaxing into practised neutrality as he looks them over and sorts them into place.]
Let's say you do win.
[A pause as he second guesses his intended question: what kind of music do you like? It feels a little impersonal under the circumstances, a little boring. So, he changes it to:]
What would you want the music to make you feel? I'll come up with something while we play.
[Is he already showing off? Yes. Yes, he is.]
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Yes, this isn't (yet?) the place for pursuing that further, but it is good to know that the might be some reciprocity.
For now: Sciel, the dealer, considers her options before settling on discarding four and drawing that number, looking it over with an inscrutable expression. ]
Oh, giving up already? [ Obviously not, but she won't pass up the opportunity for some fond teasing.
The wording of his question is a surprise, and she makes a thoughtful sound as she turns it over in her mind, giving it serious consideration.
"What would you want the music to make you feel?" Music is transformative -- powerful, in the right hands -- and the idea that it might be able to so completely alter a person's mood is tempting. To ask for "happy," or "relaxed" and possibly be able to have that experience generated for her.
That isn't what she settles on, though. There's a visible moment where Sciel seems to have the answer dawn on her, and her teeth flash in another pleased smile. ]
I would want it...to make me feel like I know you.
[ It's spoken carefully, but still with a lightness that doesn't put too much drama into the declaration. Sciel drops her gaze to the cards in front of them, waiting patiently for him to take his turn. ]
Up to the challenge?
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goty clarify obfuscate: expedition 33
lmfao i did not see what i did there
♥♥♥
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family's complicated, part deux
Now, though... It isn't as if the traditions of the Canvas have suddenly changed, but the population has gradually warmed up to the idea of actually marking birthdays again. Of celebrating life, now that isn't no longer lived under the undeniable shadow of an early death. Even so, Maelle almost doesn't notice when that day rolls around, except that she casts a glance across the calendar she keeps in the kitchen and catches sight of the date on her way out.
16 décembre. Her breath catches as she slows to a stop, eyes fixed on the page. It isn't 'Maelle's' birthday -- Gustave or Emma might have reminded her of that, given the chance in circumstances -- but Alicia's. Something she hasn't celebrated in a long time and which she might easily have forgotten, had she not happened to look this way.
Maelle stands there for a while, lost in an array of memories. Her family gathered around her, all happy and alive. Silly childish things, like letting her eat whatever she wanted all day, or freeing her from any obligations. Moments from the last few years as Alicia, too: gifts from her parents that really felt catered to her interests, lively conversations with Clea about a book they'd both read, and a private concert from Verso.
It all makes her heart clench, and before she thinks too much about it, she's bursting out the door and down the street, trying and failing to outrun the very ghosts she clings to so tightly. Before long, she's at Verso's door, hand hovering at eye level before she does eventually knock, swallowing hard. ]
Verso? It's me. [ He probably can't hear her unless he's in that front room, she realizes, but...with the knock alone, it isn't impossible that he'd choose to ignore it, if he thought it was someone else.
(Or even if he knows exactly who it is, depending on how he's feeling today.) ]
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Some dates are etched into his soul, though, and because Aline had given her painted family their real birthdays, December 16th is one of them.
What the Lumierans do or do not do for their birthdays is lost on him; his knowledge of how they live is still limited to the general concepts he holds of what it must be like to be normal, twisted though they've been by time and by circumstance. But he does know that Maelle was not born in December – that her birth had happened on its own terms, its own timeline.
In the end, that's what keeps him from reaching out once he's realised the date. Alicia has chosen to be Maelle. Whether that's possible or not isn't something for Verso to interfere with, but rather something to govern his own approaches. So, he spends the day like any other: sleeping in too late after going to bed too early, showering until he feels some semblance of humanity, and spending the bulk of the day curled up on the couch with a book or a notepad, or else with nothing but his labyrinthine thoughts to carry him into the evening.
Which means he does hear the knock and her voice chasing after it.
And he'd be lying if he said it didn't occur to him to ignore her. In each of their separate realities, he is not Verso and she is not Alicia, and so the date shouldn't mean anything for the two of them together. Hell, it even almost feels like a line they shouldn't cross. Not if he wants to remain firm in the fact that he isn't Verso. But his heart ever bleeds for the Dessendres and he still can't turn her away. Getting up, he brushes off his clothes – just a button-up and pair of black slacks – as if wrinkles can be cast off like crumbs, then tests his breath on his palm. That guides him to grab a mint before he opens his door, a delay which he almost hopes might be too long, but which he doesn't try to drag out, even quickening his steps once he nears the door.
A click of the lock, a cleansing breath, an equipping of his usual mask – easy, casual, passably held together by more than the tape and glue and wine that's scaffolding his ability to exist – and the door opens.]
Maelle. Everything okay?
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Gustave has been grumbling with increased frequency about her being involved at all in the city's restoration. Sciel and Lune have clearly told him some of what...might happen to her in the future, based on Aline's experience, but he doesn't know the extent of it and she hasn't told him. If she had, it'd be much less grumbling and much more lecturing.
Right now, though? She's not thinking of the city, the others, or their shared future, but the past that haunts them all. Verso's question makes her hesitate, though there's some level of unhappiness clear in her face, and she eventually decides on a reply: ]
I... Today is-... [ He probably knows, and she doesn't exactly want to take ownership of the birthday that had belonged to a person she's distancing herself from. All the same, she's saddled with those memories, and in particular the last birthday she'd had just a few weeks before the fire.
Verso had been there as usual, cracking jokes and smiling and ruffling her hair. And then he'd been gone, and those laughs had been overwritten with the sounds of his screams. ]
...I could use some company. [ Maelle says finally, returning her gaze to his, silently pleading. ] It just...took me by surprise, I guess.
[ Blindsided her as if she'd been hit by a truck, more like. ]
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[Maybe she'll notice how little has changed, or how much of the environment has collected dust. Like his piano off to the side, which he casts a glance and sighs. He's probably going to have to figure out how to live like a human being in a human house with walls and a roof and people who stop by, sometimes, wanting to see that he's doing well. If only because it'll leave him feeling less exposed.
There's nothing to do about it now, though, so he takes a couple steps towards the kitchen, then shoots his thumb over his shoulders.]
You want anything to drink?
[He'd offer food but, well, anything he'd bring out would be just as revealing as the piano and its dust, and the state of his life isn't a flaming clusterfuck of a mess that he feels any particular need to stoke, so. But before taking another step – before even letting her answer, really – he spits up more things to say. None of which are what he actually wants to say:
You shouldn't be here.]
Sorry I didn't, uh. [Get her anything. Check in. Let the others know so that they could provide her the kind of support she might actually benefit from. He's a sorry man with little to his name besides apologies.] You know.
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Her mind is mostly still mired in a past that is hers, but for which she usually claims no ownership, when he asks if she wants anything. Before she can arrive at an answer, though, Verso presses on, offering an apology.
It surprises a breathy laugh out of her. ]
S'okay. [ Of course it is. In the way that she assumes he means it, anyway. ] I...probably wouldn't have noticed, really. Just happened to see the date on my way out.
[ An unlucky stroke that's led to at least part of her day being derailed. Though, the silver lining (such as it is) is that she's able to check in on him with the legitimate excuse of needing to be around someone who understands. ]
And -- water's fine. [ If only it could douse the fire burning in the back of her mind, which she's usually so good about keeping contained. ] Thanks.
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versciel fluff part 3
His father, well...
As usual, that's an absolute fucking mess. A clusterfuck of pain and frustration and feeling small. Of lies told through the keeping of secrets. Of truths barely kept from being revealed. Later, he'll obsess over the reasons why his father might have kept his silence on his true intentions, but for now he's too focused on clinging to whatever normalcy he can while he figures out which masks should be doffed and donned and how to best juggle everything in his extensive catalogue of bullshit.
That's not why he approaches Sciel, though. Regardless of everything that has and will happen, he's still a man of his word – on those rare attempts when gives it in earnest, anyway – and do wherever she's wandered off to around camp, it won't be long before he seeks her out. A clearing of his throat announces his arrival, and the subconscious running of his hand through his hair probably reveals a clue or two about his state of mind: nervous, a bit unsure, hopeful.]
Hey. [Spoken only when he's stopped by her side.] I still owe you that carousel ride. If...
[He hasn't fucked it all up. She had stood up for him against Lune's frustrations, and he has taken that to heart, but he doesn't want to read too much into it, just in case. So:]
If you're up for it.
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Their journey continued on as Verso directed them through the ruins of Old Lumière in search of a previously-unknown and apparently vital piece of the mission: the Paintress' heart. There was barely enough time to marvel at the remains of the place from which their own Lumière had broken from, though, before the 33s were separated and forced to navigate to the centre of the city in unexpected disarray.
It'd given her and Lune a chance to talk, though, in more open honesty than they had at camp with their full company present. "I have this feeling he’s hiding something," Sciel had confided, though that wasn't exactly breaking news. She'd said as much to Verso himself, in her way. But...this had been different. The mistake Monoco had made that cut them off from Verso, Maelle, and Noco had left an uncomfortable twist in her gut: something she knew would only be remedied once they managed to regroup again.
Of course, once they had found each other...everything had gone to shit.
Now Noco is effectively gone and there are infinitely more questions than answers. Sciel is still chewing on them when Verso finds her sitting on one of the nearby cliffs, her back down against the grass, her knees over the edge.
The carousel. It feels like ages since they'd talked about that. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh as she pulls herself up to a sitting position, considering. ]
...If this is your plan to convince me we should take down the weaker Axon first, it won't work. [ Comes her response after a lapse. It's a joke, of course, because she needs to stall a bit as she figures out if it's an even more terrible idea to go off with him now than to join him in the wild cart ride down the mountain.
After another stretch, during which she worries idly at her lower lip, Sciel gets to her feet. ]
Be right back. [ And she returns to camp proper, finding Lune furiously scribbling in her journal.
Lune is hardly her keeper, but with tensions so high and trust running thin, it seems wrong to just disappear (again) with Verso. Particularly given that Maelle has been so quiet since her encounter at the manor, her mood clearly clouded with the events there. Loathe as Sciel is to step away from their younger companion in particular, she makes the case to Lune, whose gaze bores a disapproving hole through her head.
"I'm going to talk to him," Sciel states, with its myriad implications. Lune is the interrogator, but in this situation it might take a lighter touch to get some of the information that's been kept from them. And so, though she doesn't outright approve, Lune does return to her work with only a thin frown as evidence that they'd spoken at all.
Sciel returns to the cliffside not long after, summoning her coat to drape over her arm. ]
Shall we? [ He'd meant now, right? ]
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[He jokes back. With Verso and Lune being of one mind, and Sciel and Monoco being of the other, she is in the unenviable position of being their official tiebreaker. And maybe someone else would have questioned leaving one of the biggest decisions they'll make out here up to their youngest member, but protective brother side of him is overwhelmed by the one that wants to see her thrive, and so he shoots Sciel a somewhat mischievous shrug as she gets up.
To leave. He holds back a frown and flicks a hand towards the camp, a quiet by all means. In the meantime, he stands at the edge of the cliff, arms crossed over his chest, focus locked on the Monolith in the distance, in that representation of his mother curled up at is base. Overtop it, his mind superimposes the image of her in the manor, all stone and gold and artistic chaos. Even in his imagination, her eyeless face bores into him.
Fortunately, whatever Sciel wandered off to do doesn't take too long, so he's able to break free of the hold the memory has on him before it imposes too much of a burden on his masks. Even if he's certain the way that Alicia gravitated to her will haunt him for far longer, still.]
We shall.
[Under different circumstances, he might have offered Sciel his arm, maybe cracked another joke. At least made some move to pretend like things can be simple as two people who enjoy each other's company doing precisely that. The key to telling convincing lies is knowing when to tell the truth, though, so he doesn't bother trying to pretend. Instead, he gestures her onwards towards where Esquie is already waiting to take them to their destination and starts heading that way himself.]
I meant it, you know. [His tone is soft, but there's still an edge of frustration to it. A lingering discomfort over being discovered, dark and rumbling, even if the only person he has to blame is himself.] Being that man's son, it's something I was, it's not...
[No, he can't figure out how to complete that thought. It is important. It does guide him. It's coloured his view of the world and the Paintress and his own immortality. He loves for him and hurts for him and understands him too fucking well. Something else, then. Something that rings more true to himself.]
My father – the man he was – he died in the Fracture, and I've laid him to rest. That's all that needs to be said.
[Which isn't for him to decide, of course, but he's still going to try.]
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She can't help but smile a little, even under the strained circumstances. ]
I was going to wait at least twenty minutes before saying anything... [ It's clear, though, that he's feeling...if not a compulsion from within, then an external push to justify his actions, even though he'd been so quick to decry his need to explain when they'd returned to camp. Sciel turns her eyes on him in her usual, scrutinizing way, though her expression is soft. Uneasy, maybe, but soft. ]
I believe you. [ She says, and mostly means it. If nothing else, it seems like he wants it to be true, so...maybe it is. ] But, Verso...you know what we've been through. What he's done. It can't be a surprise that we'd...struggle, learning you're related the way we did.
[ There's no need to beat a dead horse. Verso hadn't seen the slaughter at the beach or Gustave's murder, but she knows he's witnessed enough death and other nightmares across the Continent to imagine the scenes. The traumatic impact those events have had on the three survivors.
Sciel sighs, crossing her arms. ]
...Look. We've all got...things we haven't told each other. That's okay. Just...maybe find a way to share some of the ones that might become relevant?
[ It's hard to say, of course, what would've happened had he told them the news when they'd first met. Sciel can't, in complete honestly, tell herself they'd all have been able to overlook it when the wounds were so keen.
Still. She thinks of all the questions yet unanswered (some very pressing, like his referring to Maelle and the masked girl as Alicia). Of how the way he'd screamed in frustration after the manor disappeared had seemed some of the most genuine, raw emotion he'd displayed since meeting him.
Sciel continues to look at him, her face uncharacteristically unreadable. ]
I meant what I said, too. We need to trust each other. It's got to go both ways.
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THE SLEDDING ICON fjsldig
it felt IMPORTANT and NECESSARY
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[ relationship level increase ]
[ gradient feelings unlocked | verso: less doom ]
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versciel fluff part 4
Even knowing it's the lair of an Axon — and the uninjured one, no less — they're not as prepared as they could or should be for something like this. Because their immortal guide hadn't been exaggerating when he'd described the exponential threat that these creatures pose as compared with basic Nevrons, and the danger starts the moment they cross the threshold and hear the song echoing around them.
The coliseum...is beautiful. Ethereal and enchanting in a way that's unlike even the most otherworldly landscapes they've traveled so far. And the music that drifts up and around also feels like it passes through Sciel as she joins the others near the massive chasm that sits at the center of the space. The Axon's voice slips in through her ears and skin and the chinks in her armour and settles onto her very muscles, coaxing her to relax, to release some of the tension she holds by necessity. And she does, finding herself unable and unwilling to resist it, feeling suddenly more at ease than she's been at most points during the expedition, let alone when something like Sirène is in view.
Monoco's warning to them all is like a whisper in a hurricane. Sciel is barely aware of the others' presence, hovering on the edge without a care in the world, eyes drawn automatically to the enormous, dancing creature that waits below. Her movements are fluid and beautiful, they speak of invitation and release, and there is a moment where Sciel — perfectly at ease — considers in sincerity how fun it'd probably feel to step off into the open air and tumble down below, to join in the dance —
Until the gestral's bell rings, harsh and shocking. Sciel draws a sharp breath, head again clear, and moves swiftly back from a deadly mistake, her heart hammering in her throat.
Fuck. "She who plays with wonder," indeed.
Unfortunately, a Grandis' bell and a warning are not enough to nullify Sirène and her minions. The journey to her, which has them traveling down, down, in a much longer spiral than anyone had seemed to anticipated, is similarly fraught. The Axon is the centerpiece of the area, and so she can be seen from most pathways in the coliseum. And even when the Nevron herself is out of sight, her voice carries into every nook and cranny: an ever-present reminder of who the master of this domain really is. Of course, there are also the usual slew of regular Nevrons to compete with, and some of them take after their resident Axon in their abilities.
It's unexpectedly draining, to try and resist the charm near-constantly, and Sciel feels herself fraying unusually quickly by the time they do make it to the bottom of the pit and approach the swaying, massive 'woman' in her true arena.
The fact that Sirène employs more of her dangerous technique the moment they arrive shouldn't be a surprise, but the magic is, unfortunately, just as effective now as it had been initially. A simple sweep of the Axon's arm inundates them all with visions that bring their initial onslaught to a screaming halt. Because although she's 'seen' Pierre in her dreams and nightmares, has had those moments of imagining him just out of sight in the ways of those who grieve, it'd never been like this. He's suddenly standing before her in such stark reality that it takes her breath away: hale and whole and looking every bit like he'd stepped out of the moment she'd last seen him. ...More than that, he carries a wrapped bundle, a little human, a detail she'd never let herself imagine out of regret and despair.
Their daughter gurgles, her fat, healthy hands reaching up for her parents. And, under Sirène's influence, Sciel doesn't feel shock or sadness. This...is right, isn't it? Her family is here. Of course they're here. They're...all together, as it should be, and everyone's okay. They're going to go home.
She barely has time to stretch out an arm to them before it's all gone. There's a rush of wind and shower of petals and the vision is shattered, leaving them with an enraged Axon, a brutal battle, and the bitter taste of an evaporated promise. And so Sciel does summon her weapon and engage, fighting tooth and nail to bring down the Axon and secure its heart for their mission, which they're able to do largely do to Lune's final strike. But the image of that fantasy remains in her sight long after they return (haggard, exhausted) to camp: visible with her eyes wide open or pinched shut.
Tonight, she's put herself around the corner from the fire and the bulk of the group. Close enough to shout, but with a little privacy to sort through all of the messy, twisting difficulty of the day. And so Sciel sits on a broken log, bucket of cold water at her side, splashing her face over and over again with unfocused determination.
( Do you want to spend time with Sciel? ) ]